


Heart of Gold

by sariane



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, First Time Together, Flirting, Getting Together, Humor, M/M, Masturbation, Metal Arm Kink, Porn With Plot, Self-Love, Shower Sex, Smut, The Porn Is the Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-19 20:19:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17608250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sariane/pseuds/sariane
Summary: Bucky doesn't think his metal arm is sexy.Well, you never know until you try.





	Heart of Gold

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Man of Steel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2017860) by [sariane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sariane/pseuds/sariane). 



> This is a sort-of prequel to [Man of Steel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2017860), set in the same verse and told in a similar style, but it is a complete standalone story. As with that fic, it was written as a weird mash-up of movie and comic book, but as it's a character piece, that doesn't really matter. 
> 
> Thanks to all the true believers <3 #ButDoesItVibrate?
> 
> **For those of ya’ll skipping to the sex:** each sex scene is marked with three asterisks. [Ctrl+F] to search. You’re welcome.
> 
> Warnings:  
> \- alcohol consumption  
> \- swearing  
> \- explicit sexual content (of course)  
> \- accidental voyeurism/interrupted masturbation (brief)  
> \- non-sexual unwanted bondage (a bad guy chains bucky up; Steve hits on Bucky while he’s tied up, but there is no sexual contact)  
> \- unprotected sex/unsafe sex (this is a work of fantasy fiction ya’ll, pls remember to practice safe sex)

Bucky will never forgive Sam for leaving him alone with Steve.

This was meant to be movie night – _their_ movie night, the three of them. There was beer, and popcorn, and a dumb action movie with two hot leads.

But Sam has caught Bucky looking at Steve, his eyes lingering too long. Sam _knows._ And, like the rest of the Avengers, Sam doesn't know how to mind his own damn business. It's not right, looking at your commanding officer the way Bucky looks at Steve.

It's not appropriate, not in the slightest, but neither is staring at Steve as he closes his pink, soft lips around the neck of the beer bottle to take a long swig. Steve's adam's apple bobs as he tilts his head back, exposing his neck. When Steve's done, he pulls the bottle from his lips, his tongue darting out to lick them.

This is _anything_ but appropriate.

" _God,_ " Steve says, in a tone that Bucky doesn't _think_ he intends to sound so seductive. "That's good beer. Sam's such a beer snob, but it pays off."

“What?” Bucky asks hoarsely, not taking his eyes off Steve’s lips.

“Brooklyn something,” Steve says, showing Bucky the label. Bucky glances at it without reading. He swallows.

_Get yourself together, Barnes_.

“What’s the point of drinking when you can’t even feel it?” he asks, forcing his eyes away from Steve and at the television screen.

“It tastes good,” Steve shrugs. “What did you get?”

Bucky looks down at his own beer. It’s some kind of pale ale, he doesn’t really care. He’s on his fourth.

“I don’t know,” he says. “It’s starting to do the trick, though.” He feels just barely buzzed but entirely _tipsy_ , just from watching Steve’s mouth, Steve’s neck, Steve’s slight alcohol flush that lingers on his cheeks and trails down behind the collar of his soft gray t-shirt.

_Fuck it._ Bucky downs the rest of his beer and sets it down on the table next to his other empty bottles. He gets up to grab another bottle from the kitchen fridge.

“Grab one for me, will ya, Buck?” Steve says absently.

Bucky stops in the kitchen for just a moment to compose himself. Usually he’s not this bad, but Steve is wearing a tight shirt and jeans and absolutely looks like he’s trying to give that beer bottle a blow job. Bucky can’t take much more of this.

He collapses back on the couch and passes Steve his fancy craft beer. Bucky opens his own with a flick of his metal thumb on the cap.

“Hey, could you open mine?” Steve asks, holding his bottle out. Bucky gives him a look. He knows Steve could pop the bottle cap off without even trying, but he humors him. Steve’s eyes trail over Bucky’s fingers as they grasp the bottle top and pull the cap off. He flips it at Steve, who catches it. The cap has the slightest finger-shaped dent in it.

“Thanks,” Steve says with a smirk. Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Lazy ass,” he mutters.

The two of them turn back to the movie. It doesn’t take Bucky long to realize that he’s completely lost the plot and has no idea what’s going on. There’s an explosion, a car flying into the sky, and a burly looking bald guy yelling into a radio. He isn’t sure he really cares about the movie at this point.

“How’s Sharon?” Bucky asks absently, eyes still on the screen.

“She’s fine,” Steve says. “On a mission in Canada, right now, I think.”

“Canada?” Bucky mutters. “Huh. That sounds boring.”

“You sound jealous,” Steve laughs.

“I _miss_ boring,” Bucky says. “God, I feel like all I do is travel. New York, London, outer space, Hong Kong, back to space—”

“You need a hobby,” Steve says, “like, knitting or something. Maybe a girlfriend.”

Bucky laughs low and deep in his chest. “Yeah right,” he says, waving his metal hand in front of Steve. “Earth to Rogers. I’m kind of a mess. Not exactly a good catch.”

“That’s bullshit,” Steve snorts. “You’re handsome, funny, _and_ you’re an Avenger. I’m sure Clint gets his dates based on those three qualities alone.”

“Please don’t compare me to _Barton_ ,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes. “I have _some_ self-esteem.”

“That’s fair,” Steve laughs. “But like, come on, what’s stopping you?”

“In case you haven’t noticed,” Bucky starts brusquely, feeling all too honest from the beers, “I’m kind of a rugged looking guy with a metal arm. It’s a little intimidating to some people.”

“You, intimidating?” Steve scoffs. “Please. You’re a pushover.”

“I’m fucking terrifying,” Bucky pouts.

“Yeah right,” Steve laughs, “you’re an assassin with a heart of gold. You’ve got the – the –” he waves his hand in front of his face, “the look, and the hair. It’s, uh. Modern. And you work out, and there’s the robot arm—”

Bucky laughs loudly. “Oh, come on, Steve, not the damn _arm_. It’s this big bulky machine, it’s not, like, sexy or anything.”

“People think Iron Man’s suit is sexy,” Steve points out. Bucky notices that he looks very red.

“That’s Tony Stark,” Bucky huffs. “Anything he wears is sexy.”

“Huh,” Steve says with a smirk, taking a swig of his beer. “I didn’t know you thought Tony was sexy. Maybe you should try him. _He’d_ be all over that arm.”

Bucky ignores the comment and Steve’s laugh.

“Girls do _not_ like my arm, Steve, okay? I’m positive,” Bucky sighs. He hasn’t wanted to strangle Steve this much since he was still brainwashed.

“You’ve gotta be –”

“It’s cold, and hard, and awkward,” Bucky snaps. “I’ve heard it all. No one likes cold metal groping their ass.”

Steve is quiet for a long enough moment that Bucky starts to panic. They were just teasing, he knows, but he’s so worked up from watching Steve all night – a reminder of how long it’s been since he was laid? Not helpful.

“How do you know?” Steve says suddenly.

“I’ve heard enough complaints,” Bucky mutters, looking away. He glances down at his left arm and flexes, watching the silver metal ripple and reflect the blue light of the television.

“No, I mean,” Steve widens his eyes a little, gesturing vaguely. “How do you _know_?”

“What do you –”

It hits Bucky harder than a train. He means – _well_.

Bucky inhales sharply. “You’re suggesting I—”

Steve makes a pointed face. “I mean,” he says, shrugging as though this is a _normal fucking conversation_ , “you’ll never know unless you try.”

Bucky wants to lean forward and punch Steve. He also wants to kiss him.

Luckily for Steve, he chooses to punch with his _right_ hand. Very lightly. And Steve is _laughing_ , like Bucky’s so goddamn amusing.

“Go fuck yourself, Steve,” Bucky grumbles. “And find your own goddamn robot hand to do it with.”

Steve throws a couch pillow at him.

***

The thing is, Bucky _can’t stop thinking about it._

He will fucking murder Steve, for _real_ this time, he swears. It’s late, way past midnight, and Bucky is lying in bed thinking about Steve’s stupidly perfect eyelashes and the barely noticeable freckles he has on his cheekbones, not to mention the wide width of his shoulders and his waist, so solid and impossibly small, his thick thighs and –

Bucky is fucked. So utterly, utterly fucked.

He’s still thinking of Steve’s ridiculously strong legs when he slips his right hand into his boxers. It’s late and he should probably sleep, but he’s _hard_. He knows he’ll be asleep in no time if he can just get off. He thinks about Steve’s lips on the beer bottle and imagines them red and swollen from kissing, his tongue poking out to wet them as he looks Bucky straight in the eye.

God, if only he’d leaned over on the couch and pulled Bucky over to him by the front of his shirt. Bucky would’ve let himself be pulled straight into Steve’s lap and kissed him hard. The first thing he’d do would be to pull that damn tight t-shirt over Steve’s head and throw it across the room.

‘ _Find your own goddamn robot hand to do it with.’_

Bucky hears his words echo through his head and curses himself. He pulls his hand out of his boxers and rolls over in bed, hiding his face in the pillow in embarrassment. God, he’d really said that, and he wasn’t even _drunk_.

But when Bucky thinks about the contrast between Steve’s flushed, hot skin and the cold dark lines of his hand, he can’t think much anymore. Maybe – maybe Steve was right. Maybe Bucky’s gotta…see it to believe it.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Bucky reaches for the drawer of his nightstand and searches for the lube. He pulls it out and sets it on the bed while he pulls himself out of his boxers. He’s so _hard_ , just thinking about Steve telling him he should try – well, _this_ – but he needs to plan. God, it’s been so long since he’s done anal, and, well, pegging is a lot different than trying to twist himself around and finger himself. Bucky gathers enough brains to work with and heads to the bathroom to clean up.

Five minutes later, Bucky’s on his back on his bed, a pillow shoved underneath his shoulders while he pours lube into his left hand. His ass feels warm and clean, his skin still moist. He trails his fingers around his asshole, spreading the lube, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself. He isn’t as hard as he was, but _god,_ he’s just brimming with sparks and anticipation.

His metal hand is cold on his skin at first. Bucky lets out a shaking breath. He circles his asshole with his index finger, over the puckered skin of his asshole and _in_ , holding his fingertip against the pressure.

The initial sensation – cold on warm, smooth electric sensation and the raw feeling of his skin, a hot current running across his body – it’s overwhelming, and Bucky finds himself throwing his head back on the pillows and groaning, long and loud. He feels his chest heaving.

_Get yourself together_ , he thinks.

Bucky reaches down with his right hand to cup his dick and give it a halfhearted stroke. He’s hard as a rock, now, probably harder than he’s ever been, just from the waiting. He’d spilled just enough lube on his right hand for a slick sensation. It’s still a little rough, but Bucky doesn’t want to come soft and quick.

He shifts, swirling his index finger around his asshole, relishing in the teasing feeling of the cold metal. When he looks down past his red, swollen prick, and sees the metal of his fingers fogged up with the heat of his body, he almost cries.

The sensation in his robotic arm is amazing. He knows that he could turn it off if he really wanted to, pretend that it was someone else’s hand touching him, but the hedonistic part of Bucky wants to feel it all, the warmth as he presses his finger into his own ass, the hot liquid velvet feel, the push of muscle, the shock of the cold from half his nerve endings and the melting heat from the other half.

Bucky pushes his finger deeper, feeling his pleasure mount at the new sensation. His finger is warming, now, so he adds another, letting the others curl up into his palm. He hears motors adjust and creak as he moves, his hips beginning to stir, thrusting up and into his fingers.

The stretch is _golden_ and amazing, so he fucks his fingers up harder, thrusting towards where he thinks his prostate might be. Bucky curls his fingers desperately, trying to find a further lapse into the pleasure so he can melt into it. He clenches his ass around his fingers, groaning. His entire hand is warm, now, hot as his skin and getting hotter.

Bucky crooks his fingers around and _yelps_.

“Oh god,” he mutters, closing his eyes. His breath is hot and short, sweat running down his neck and chest. He thrusts his hips in some faint idea at a rhythm, fucking himself on two fingers and thinking vaguely, _Is three too much?_

It turns out it’s not. Bucky gasps at the stretch and finds his hips moving faster, chasing the faint promise of an orgasm. But if he wants to come, he’s going to have to try harder. Bucky curls his fingers again so he hits that golden bundle of nerves with every thrust, and reaches down with his other hand to stroke his cock.

It takes him a moment to get into a proper rhythm again, but once he’s found it, he loses everything else. There’s just the sound of his breath, hard and throaty in his own ears, and the liquid slap of his fingers slipping in and out of his ass.

God, if Steve only _knew_ what he’d started.

Bucky finds himself tightening his grip on his cock at the thought. He curls in on himself unconsciously, trying to fuck himself harder, but it’s not the same when it’s just him. Steve would fuck him hard enough, would take one look at him with his fingers in his ass and – and smirk and say, _‘God, Bucky,_ ’ and press his hand down on Bucky’s, pressing Bucky’s own fingers deeper.

Steve would wrap a hot, wide hand around Bucky’s dick and stroke it gently, smiling, trying to draw out Bucky’s pleasure even longer just so he could watch Bucky fuck himself. Bucky’s eyelids flicker, trying to hold the image of Steve in his head while he glances down at his arm, eyes trailing down the silver plates to where his fingers disappear in his own ass.

He imagines Steve’s groan, his _growl_ as he strokes Bucky’s dick harder, because he wants Bucky to come already, because _he_ wants Bucky, wants to turn him over and fuck him into the mattress—

Bucky comes with a shaky groan.

In the moments after his orgasm, Bucky feels the world fading back into place around him, the heaving of his chest and the sticky feeling of his own come on his stomach a rude awakening. He allows himself a few moments to stare at the plaster on the ceiling before he forces himself to get up and head to the bathroom for a shower.

_Damn_ , Bucky thinks. _Maybe Steve was right_.

*

There’s no way in hell he’s going to _tell_ Steve that he was right about the whole hand – arm – robo-sex thing. It’s…not something you share with your best friend. Especially not the one you jerked off to while participating in said masturbatory robo-sex. So he won’t say a damn thing.

It’s a great plan. Until _Steve_ brings it up.

“Bucky, do you got a minute?” Steve asks him. They’re both in the main kitchen in Avengers Tower for whatever reason (Bucky because he’s making himself lunch between workouts in the gym, Steve probably because he _lives_ here).

“Sure, Steve,” Bucky says, spreading mayonnaise on his sandwich. “What’s up?’

Steve hesitates to answer, which is never a good sign. Steve doesn’t hesitate.

“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry,” he starts.

Bucky stares at him. Steve doesn’t do this – apologize.

“For what?” he says slowly, almost afraid to ask.

“For suggesting you should, uh,” Steve pauses. “You know. Get to know your cybernetic arm a bit. Better.”

Bucky can’t stop staring. This can’t be happening. Fuck, he just wanted to eat his sandwich, but now he has to deal with _this._

“Okay, first of all,” Bucky says, waving the mayonnaise-covered butter knife in the air, “you don’t have to apologize. It was a stupid joke.” Steve backs out of range of the mayonnaise splatter. “And second of all, it ended happily ever after, so you _really_ don’t have to apologize.”

Steve’s eyes widen almost comically. “You mean—”

“Can I eat my sandwich now?” Bucky asks, trying to seem threatening but sounding a little pathetic.

“I, um,” Steve opens his mouth, then closes it. “Congratulations?” he offers.

“Shut up, Steve,” Bucky sighs. He turns back to his sandwich and adds some lettuce.

“I mean, I still shouldn’t have said that,” Steve babbles, his voice raising in pitch. “You don’t tell your best friend that his prosthetic arm is basically a sex toy, or. Or whatever.”

“Luckily for you, you’re _absolutely correct_ ,” Bucky says. “So you’re forgiven.”

“I guess I told you so,” Steve says with a smirk, obviously having decided that this means he’s right about _everything_. Damn it. “Not so cold and hard after all, huh?”

“Well, it warms up when it’s been, you know, inside for a while,” Bucky says with a shrug.

“Oh,” Steve says faintly. His eyes widen a fraction. “ _Oh_ ,” he repeats, with meaning. “That wasn’t _exactly_ what I suggested, but.” He shrugs.

Bucky frowns. “What?” he asks. “You tell me to go fuck myself and didn’t mean it _literally_? I don’t—”

“Good god,” Steve breathes. “Bucky.”

“Yes?”

“You can’t just –”

Natasha walks into the kitchen. She takes one look at Steve and raises an eyebrow at Bucky.

“Uh oh, looks like you broke Rogers,” she teases. Steve splutters, turning bright red.

Bucky seizes the moment. “Good talk,” he says with forced casualness as he turns to leave the room, patting Steve on the shoulder – with the _left_ hand, _damn it damn it damn it._

The back of his neck is burning. It might be from Steve’s gaze.

*

“So, he definitely thinks you’re attractive,” Sam says thoughtfully.

“That’s an understatement,” Clint mutters. He takes a long swig of his beer.

“—And the next step is, getting him to _admit_ it,” Sam continues.

Bucky shakes his head. “Guys, guys, guys,” he says. “I don’t think you’re listening. Steve told me to —” Bucky gestures hopelessly, waving his hands in the air, “– and then he, he _apologized_. Like he thought he was harassing me or something.”

“You did _not_ just make a jerk-off motion with your hand like a twelve-year-old,” Sam deadpans.

“He totally did,” Clint agrees.

“Sam,” Bucky whines. “ _Help me_.”

“God, you are like a fucking child, you know that? I’m not your relationship counselor,” Sam rolls his eyes.

Bucky throws his hands up. “You’re the smoothest guy I know,” he says.

“And I’m the luckiest,” Clint says, toasting them with his bottle.

“And _you’re_ the dumbest,” Sam says to Bucky. “Some guys talk about this shit with their friends. Hell, most of the women I know do. But Steve? Does not just want to give you sex tips.”

“Nope,” Clint agrees, “he wants to give you a lot more than the tip.”

Bucky and Sam groan in unison.

“I hate you two,” Bucky says darkly.

“Only ‘cause I’m right,” Sam smiles, full of handsome charm, alcohol, and bullshit. Bucky hates him.

*

Bucky ends up knocking on the door to Stark’s workshop at 6AM, totally unsurprised to see that Tony hasn’t slept at all that day (or possibly, _week_ ). He buzzes Bucky in and even turns down the music a little, but Bucky knows it’s only because these visits usually herald a robotics-related problem for Tony to solve. He’s become very acquainted with Bucky’s prosthetic arm, even if Bucky won’t let him replace it with a new model.

“Barnes!” Tony says, spinning around on his stool for effect. He grins manically. “What can I do ya for today? Tune up? Upgrade? Do you finally want those repulsors added to –”

“I’ve got something stuck in my joints, and it sucks ass,” Bucky says. What he does _not_ say is that it’s definitely mostly lube.

“What?” Tony’s brow crumples in disappointment. “Really? You need, what, some dish soap? I’m hurt, Bucky, really.”

“You got a hi-tech scrub brush and some paint thinner around here, Stark?” Bucky asks. He suddenly wishes that he hadn’t bothered, especially because Stark is getting to his feet and walking over to examine Bucky’s arm for himself.

“What did you get in it? Alien goo?” Tony guesses. “Nah, I bet it’s shea butter or something. You look like you moisturize.”

“What?”

“Self-care is important,” Tony says matter-of-factly. He grabs for Bucky’s wrist, but Bucky twitches it away and holds it to his chest. Tony rolls his eyes. “Well, I can get you some – _holy shit_ , it’s lube, isn’t it?” he says, eyes widening.

“No, it’s not,” Bucky says, but Tony ignores him.

“You must’ve used _oil-based_ ,” Tony babbles, “that’s why it’s sticking, it counteracts with the hydraulic oil—”

“Uhh,” Bucky says. “Stark. There’s a _scientific explanation_ for that?”

“Yeah,” Tony shrugs. “I figured it out ages ago when the gauntlets stopped – _aaaand_ you don’t need to know that.”

Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose. “Uh, okay,” he mutters. “I’ll just…have at it with a toothbrush and some de-greaser, then?”

“No, we gotta flush your hydraulic system,” Tony sighs, heading over to one of the stations in the lab. “Not that I’m not happy for you or whatever, but can you wear a glove next time or something?”

Bucky laughs to himself as he follows Tony.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Tony mutters, rolling his eyes. “Then, what’s the _point_?”

***

The Avengers are called out to fight some goddamn _alien slugs_ within a few days, and Bucky is finally able to let out a little bit of his frustration. Shooting them isn’t very successful, but they don’t stand a chance in combat. Bucky beats a couple to a disgusting green pulp before the fight is over. It’s nice for a change.

Thor and Stark take the lead on the slugs (which seem to have something to do with Reed Richards), but that’s not Bucky’s problem. He’s not in charge, so he can happily go back to Avengers Tower and shower off the slime and sweat before they meet up for what passes for a debrief these days.

By the time he catches a ride back to the tower, Bucky is anxious to get cleaned up. Deep down, he loves a fight, but there’s nothing satisfying about beating mindless aliens around the streets of New York. Maybe because it’s become too damn familiar.

He lingers in the shower, trying to scrub the goo out of his long hair and mostly failing. It looks like everyone else either went home to clean up or finished before he arrived; Bucky had figured he’d rather dirty up the locker room showers with alien goo than his own. It isn’t as bad as he thought, though – it cleans out of his arm easily enough.

Bucky looks at the shining, soapy metal of his arm for a long moment. He’s still buzzing with the adrenaline, and he’ll be on edge for the rest of the day if he doesn’t burn it off somehow…

He glances at the curtain separating his shower cubicle from the rest of the locker room and pulls it tight. The water is warm on his skin, but he turns up the heat. He can already feel the blood rushing down to his dick at the thought of it. He shouldn’t, not here, but –

Bucky stifles a groan when he reaches down and strokes the head of his cock. It feels good, like this is what he needed, a good fuck after the battle. Or, _damn,_ a good fucking.

He doesn’t have any lube, or even enough time, but Bucky bites his lip and reaches his left hand around to tease at the rim of his asshole. The shower has warmed his metal hand hotter than his body temperature. There’s no slick, just the water pouring down his body, but Bucky just dips a fingertip into his ass and pulls a little, stretching.

“ _Fuck,”_ he moans, forgetting to be silent. His voice echoes a little in the tiled room. Bucky freezes for a moment. When he doesn’t hear anything else, he closes his eyes and tries to be silent.

Bucky focuses on his dick for a moment. He runs his thumb down the shaft, tracing a vein, feeling the sensations gathering and pooling in his stomach. He won’t last long, he knows, not when his blood is high. Not with his new favorite sensation, metal against skin. He had Steve to thank for that one.

Oh, and how he would thank him. Bucky would push Steve up against the shower wall, right here, right now, kiss him, bite his lip, hold his wrists up against the tile and kiss him until Steve gasped for breath.

Bucky would sink to his knees, then, ghosting his mouth over Steve’s nipples and abs and navel, sink down and test the waters with his lips on Steve’s inner thigh. He can imagine the gasp Steve would make, the low groan, the pitch of his voice growing higher when Bucky closed his mouth around the tip –

Bucky groans, tightening his grip on his cock and stopping for just a moment to look down. His chest heaves as he gasps for breath, nipples sticking out, tingling a little. He moves his metal hand from his ass and reaches for the soap, cleaning off his fingers before he runs one over a nipple. The sensation is light but still jolting. He tries to stifle a moan.

Bucky starts jerking off with his robotic hand, now, watching with lidded eyes. The metal is grey and cold-looking against his reddened cock. The surface of his hand looks hard, but it feels smooth, almost silky. With the water, it slides easily over his skin.

It would look so good on Steve’s cock, too, cupping his balls, brushing a thumb over his cockhead, shining as a drop of precome runs down the metal. Bucky would _show_ him how good it feels, like he’s doing now, pump his fist faster, sliding smooth and slick –

“Bucky, are you okay--?!”

The shower curtain is pushed to the side and Bucky finds himself face-to-face with the real Steve Rogers, still in his Captain America uniform and covered in green goo, staring at Bucky in shock.

Bucky yelps and jumps backwards, his feet slipping on the wet tile. He loses his balance, but Steve is right there, hands at his back, catching him before he can crack his head on the tile.

Bucky nearly yells again at the feeling of Steve’s hands on his wet, naked skin.

“What the _hell?!”_ he manages, wrangling himself out of Steve’s grip. Bucky turns off the shower, trying to maintain what little is left of his dignity.

Steve takes a step backwards, averting his eyes for a moment before turning then back to look firmly at Bucky’s face (although he struggles to meet Bucky’s eyes).

“I heard noises,” Steve says shortly. “I thought you were hurt.”

“I—” Bucky starts, before he realizes there’s really nothing he can say to defend himself. He was the one jerking off in the locker room, after all, empty or not. “I’m fine,” he croaks.

“Alright,” Steve says. He doesn’t move.

Bucky clears his throat.

“Oh,” Steve says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I suppose you want to get cleaned up. Yeah. This goo is…something else.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees in a hollow voice. “Didn’t want to clog up my shower drain at home.”

“Right,” Steve says.

“Right,” Bucky repeats.

Steve stares at Bucky for a moment before he turns on his heel and heads to the door. Bucky watches weakly.

At the door, Steve hesitates. Over his shoulder he says, “Uh, don’t worry about the debrief.”

When the door swings shut behind him, Bucky finally moves to close the shower curtain.

He’s still hard, somehow, but it’s not like he can jerk off _now,_ not after being _caught._ And by the man he was thinking about, no less. As if the decades of brainwashing wasn’t enough of a sign, the universe has it out for him for sure.

Bucky sighs and turns on the cold water.

*

“Fuck me,” Bucky moans.

“Not happening.”

“ _Kill me_.”

Natasha looks up from her tablet, unimpressed.

“You got yourself into this mess,” she says. “You can get yourself out of it.” Her eyes snap back to the screen.

Bucky scowls and crosses his arms like a petulant child. He had flung himself dramatically onto Natasha’s chaise, but she was (obviously) unsympathetic. Clint was even worse.

“What happened at the debrief?” Bucky asks. “Do I _want_ to know?”

“We got a twenty-minute lecture from Reed Richards about how we should have preserved a living specimen,” Clint frowned. “Cap looked pretty constipated the whole time.”

“Great,” Bucky groans. Natasha smacks the back of Clint’s head affectionately.

“Please, Clint, you can’t tell the difference between constipated and uncomfortably turned on?” Natasha raises an eyebrow at him. “That explains a lot about your love life.”

“Hey! I –” Clint rubs the back of his head. “Actually, I probably deserve that one.”

“’ _Uncomfortably turned on_?’” Bucky repeats in a deadpan. “What does that even mean?”

“Well, imagine you’re horny and forced to listen to Reed Richards talk about enormous slugs,” Natasha says, waving her hand in the air. “Not comfortable. On the plus side: total boner killer.”

Clint starts, “Steve did not have a –”

“ _Clint_ ,” Natasha sighs.

“During an _Avengers_ _meeting_?!” Clint looks scandalized.

“The point is,” Bucky says firmly, “he’s still avoiding me. Come on, Nat. He’s my best friend.” It hurts, thinking about it. Bucky feels the silence stretch on and adds, awkwardly, “And it’s not like it’s the end of the world, I mean. It happens, right? Awkward shit happens.” Bucky sighs, shoulders sagging. _Fuck._

“There is literally no advice I can give you that will help your situation,” Natasha says plainly. “It just sucks.”

Clint lets out a low whistle (and ducks when Natasha throws a couch pillow at him).

“Yeah, but – _ugh,_ you’re right,” Bucky sighs. He rolls over on the chaise and buries his face in the fabric. It smells like detergent. “This sucks.”

“Hey, soldiers shared pretty close quarters in World War II, didn’t they?” Clint says. With his face hidden, Bucky can’t see the warning look Natasha sends Clint, but he can imagine it. “You knew him as a teenager, man, are you saying that he never walked in on –”

“The costume had _tights_ ,” Bucky groans. “It didn’t hide a thing. What do you _think_ happened? God, are you trying to kill me from _more_ embarrassment, Barton?”

“Hey, at least you won’t have to deal with Steve if you’re dead,” Natasha points out.

Bucky turns his head to squint at her. She’s got a surprisingly good point. He _could_ always fake his death.

*

There’s got to be some law of the universe that reads: The worst possible thing that can happen, _will happen_ , and to James Buchanan Barnes. At least, that’s what Bucky thinks.

Hardly a month passes between the Shower Incident and what Bucky thinks he’s going to call his Second Death. Because he’s definitely gonna fake his death after _this_ shit.

“Bucky --?”

Steve’s voice rings out clearly into the underground bunker. Bucky groans, wishing he could hide his face in his hands. But he can’t … as his wrists are currently chained to the ceiling.

He thinks he almost deserves the surprise on Cap’s face when he rushes into the room to see Bucky, legs spread and shackled to the floor, arms cuffed together and hanging from the ceiling. After all, Bucky doesn’t often get caught like this by the baddies.

“Are you okay?” Steve says, quickly checking to see if the area is clear before rushing over to him. The room is empty, the baddies having fled just minutes after they heard Captain America was on the scene.

“Yeah,” Bucky says in a low tone. “Madam Hydra got me. She’s fuckin’ nuts. Her _thighs_ –” Steve nods in agreement, like this explains everything.

“God, did she try to strangle you with them?” Steve asks, almost – wistfully? Huh.

“Yes,” Bucky frowns, filing that away for later. _Anyways._ He jingles the chains around his wrists a little. “She fried the arm with an EMP, and I can’t break these damn chains.”

“Let me try,” Steve says, and before Bucky can protest, he’s leaning into Bucky’s space and trying to snap the handcuffs. He reaches over Bucky’s head and pulls at the chains to try to snap them. His face is inches away from Bucky’s, all hard lines and concentration.

Bucky closes his eyes for a brief moment. Steve’s body heat washes over him through his body armor. Their thighs brush a little when Steve moves, grunting with effort. Bucky resists the urge to thrust his hips towards Steve, to rub against him…He’s already thinking about Steve’s hands on him, in the shower, warm and steady on his naked skin, saving him from falling, holding him tight –

“Fuck,” Steve gasps. “I can’t break them. Probably vibranium.”

Bucky opens his eyes just as Steve steps away. Steve looks at him for a long moment, his eyes flashing with something Bucky can’t read.

“Okay there?” Steve asks. Bucky knows he’s turned a shade of pink.

“Perfect,” Bucky spits. “There’s got to be a key, or a release button, or _something_ around,” he says, almost pleading. It’s not that he’s feeling anything more than a little discomfort right now – but if Steve stands next to him and rubs up against him any more, he knows he’ll be feeling a _lot_ of discomfort, and pretty quick.

“Let me try something,” Steve says, but that spark hasn’t left his eye.

Bucky nearly faints when Steve gets down on his knees in front of him. Eyes glued to Bucky’s, Steve peels off his cowl and tosses it aside. His blonde hair is perfectly disheveled, and Bucky just wants to reach down and run his hands through it and _pull_. He’s almost thankful for the chains holding him back.

Steve leans forwards, head tilting downwards to focus on the shackles around Bucky’s ankles. He tests his strength against the chain before turning to the cuff itself, his long, pale fingers tracing the seams and bolts in the metal.

Bucky stares down at Steve’s head and swallows hard. He hangs limp in his chains, aching to reach down and touch Steve and glad he can’t.

“Guess these are made out of the same stuff,” Steve says after a moment. Slowly, he looks back up at Bucky. He’s biting his lip like he’s deep in thought, but at soon as Bucky meets his eyes, Steve licks his lips slowly, his tongue lingering over the deep pink of his bottom lip. “Any ideas?”

Bucky’s about to say something very, _very_ inappropriate when he feels the handcuffs give – and he’s falling, collapsing onto Steve.

Steve’s reflexes are quick. He grabs Bucky, breaking his fall, so that the two of them end up crouched on the floor together, panting.

They look up in surprise. Bucky does a double-take when he sees Natasha on the other side of the room, leaning against a control console with crossed arms.

“The release lever’s over here,” she says pointedly.

Bucky glares at Nat, but she only raises an eyebrow at him.

“We better finish clearing the base and get out of here,” Steve says, suddenly serious, reaching for his cowl. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” Bucky frowns as Steve walks away. He peels the EMP device off his metal arm with his right hand and throws it to the ground so he can grind it under his heel.

Natasha looks like she’s trying not to laugh at him.

***

“Well, looks like we made it here alive,” Bucky says sarcastically, gesturing to his front door. “Probably because _Captain America_ was here to protect me.”

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” Steve smiles. He still has his uniform on, as does Bucky. They had attracted surprisingly little attention on the subway from Avengers Tower, probably because they’d been mistaken for impersonators. The bastards were all over Fifth Avenue, charging unsuspecting tourists for selfies. But it’s late, now, and the crowds that walk past Bucky’s brownstone have thinned.

Steve shrugs, “I’m just trying to be nice.”

“Nice,” Bucky repeats. “ _Nice._ You already rescued my sorry ass once today, and I don’t think I’m going to be kidnapped in my own living room.”

“You sure? You look pretty helpless to me,” Steve says. He’s still smiling, and Bucky wants to punch him in the face. Or kiss him.

“Yeah, well, thanks for the rescue. I owe you one,” Bucky sighs in over-exaggerated exasperation. “Now, I got a hot shower and a bed calling my name.”

When Bucky turns to unlock his door, Steve doesn’t move to leave. With the key still in the lock, Bucky turns back to face him.

“What?” he says flatly. Steve raises an eyebrow.

“Let me see,” Steve says.

“What are you --?”

“You arm. Let me see.”

Bucky holds out his metal hand, but Steve ignores it and reaches for his right wrist. Bucky lets him take it. Steve turns his hand over, palm up, and traces the welt on his wrist with a finger.

“Damn it,” he curses.

“I’m fine,” Bucky insists. “It’ll heal up in an hour or two.” Steve ignores him, pulling Bucky’s sleeve up to reveal a large black and purple bruise that even Bucky hadn’t realized was there.

But Steve had noticed –

“Steve,” Bucky says softly. Steve swipes his thumb over the bottom of the bruise, not enough to hurt, but gently enough that Bucky feels Steve's body heat on his skin.

Bucky’s eyes move up Steve’s hand and to his shoulder, to the inch of skin peaking out from his unzipped collar, up Steve’s neck and down the line of his jaw. He takes in the wrinkles and lines that form right between Steve’s eyebrows and wants to smooth them out. Bucky’s eyes linger on Steve’s lips and swallows.

“Steve,” Bucky says again, this time grasping Steve’s arm and pulling him a step closer. Close enough to touch.

“Yeah?” Steve says, surprise in his eyes.

“I never thanked you, for earlier,” Bucky says impulsively. Steve’s mouth falls open a little.

“Oh?” he asks, lips quirking up into a smile, a _challenge_.

Bucky leans up into Steve and kisses him.

It isn’t a long kiss, because Bucky pulls away. Steve stops him, catching his face in his hands.

“I can’t believe you, Barnes,” Steve says in a low voice that Bucky feels vibrating deep in his chest, “You _asshole._ I’ve been hitting on you for _months_.”

“Months?” Bucky frowns. “Since when?”

“Since wh --?! You’re clueless, you know that?” Steve huffs. “You’re an idiot. I was waiting on you to get your head out of your ass.”

“Why the fuck were you waiting?” Bucky asks, and Steve kisses him again, his lips urgent against Bucky’s. Bucky lets Steve take charge of the kiss, lets his hands roam up the rough fabric of Steve’s uniform and clutch onto the shield straps on his shoulders to hold him close. When they pull away, Bucky presses his forehead to Steve’s.

“I can’t remember why,” Steve says. “Bad advice from Sam, probably.”

Bucky’s about to start ranting about Sam Wilson when Steve catches his open mouth in a kiss, cutting him off. Bucky feels his eyelids flutter like a heroine in a romance movie when Steve brushes his thumb over Bucky’s cheekbone.

Someone on the street wolf-whistles and they pull apart.

“I should –” Steve starts.

“Do you wanna come in?” Bucky says. He pushes his door open.

Steve raises his eyebrows.

Before Bucky knows it, he’s on the other side of the door and so is Steve, pushing him up against it and kissing him, kissing his neck, and Bucky thinks his eyes are about to roll up in his head when Steve shoves a knee between Bucky’s legs.

“Steve,” he says hoarsely. “Steve, I – god, I’m so dirty.”

“Yeah,” Steve whispers against his neck, his voice utterly wrecked.

“No,” Bucky says, shaking himself back to his senses. “I’m sweaty. Gross. I need a shower.”

Steve straightens up and takes a step back, blinking as he pushes back his desire. “Oh,” he says, almost sheepish. “Yeah.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Wanna join me?” he asks.

Before Steve can answer, Bucky is sprinting through his apartment towards the bathroom, shedding layers as he goes. He doesn’t even have time to doubt himself, because Steve is following him and laughing insanely, catching him by the waist to kiss him in the doorway of the bathroom.

Bucky pulls at the zipper on Steve’s uniform collar and Steve fumbles with Bucky’s straps as they desperately try to get each other out of their clothes. Bucky looks Steve up and down and thinks he looks ridiculous in his bare feet with only half of the snaps on his costume undone.

“Sure this isn’t moving a little fast for you?” Steve asks hesitantly. He stills his fingers and looks Bucky straight in the eye, but Bucky laughs.

“I’ve known you for eighty years, pal,” he smirks, “you can take me out on a date tomorrow night. Or.”

“Or?” Steve asks.

“Or we could stay in.”

Laughing, Steve kisses Bucky breathless.

Somehow, they get themselves out of their clothes and into the shower, and then Bucky just drinks in the sight of Steve, naked and beautiful, with the water from the shower running down his body.

Steve’s skin is as pale as always, but there’s a pink flush growing on his cheeks and chest. Bucky reaches out a hand and stops.

“Can I --?”

“ _Please_ , Bucky,” Steve says. Bucky trails his hands down Steve’s chest, over sparse hair and the stretch of his muscles, down to the sharp curves of his hips. Bucky glances up, meeting Steve’s hungry eyes for just a second before he brushes his fingers over Steve’s thighs.

His cock is hard and heavy, pink at the tip pooling down into a deep red at the base, and _god –_ Steve is completely shaved. Bucky had never thought about that, about modern hygiene and Steve and now he’s here, with Steve’s dick in his hand and his own hard as a rock.

“Bucky,” Steve moans, throwing his head back against the shower tile. “C'mon. Please don’t stop yet.”

“Nah,” Bucky says, twisting his wrist slightly. “I’m just getting started.” And drops to his knees.

The shower is barely big enough for the two of them, but Bucky just slides closer to Steve so he can push him up against the wall and focus on kissing up his inner thigh.

“I don’t think we’re getting very clean,” Steve says, breathless. Bucky playfully swats Steve where he was just kissing him.

“You afraid of getting a little dirty?” Bucky growls, voice low.

He swats Steve again, harder. Steve lets out a loud groan at Bucky’s touch, closing his eyes like he can’t stop himself. When he looks down at Bucky a moment later, Bucky raises an eyebrow.

“We’re going to talk about that tomorrow,” he promises Steve.

Without waiting for him to answer, Bucky leans forward and takes the head of Steve’s cock in his mouth. Steve lets out an impressive string of curses, “ _Oh Bucky fuck that feels so – oh hell Bucky Bucky fuck – your mouth,”_ and when he says Bucky’s name he says it like he’s taking the lord’s name in vain.

Bucky feels Steve’s fingers curl into his hair. It’s wet from the shower, and Steve’s hands are so warm against his scalp. Bucky is caught up in sensations for a moment, the wet tile under his knees, the hot water on his back, Steve’s skin, Steve’s sweet salt smell, the taste of Steve’s cock on his tongue –

“You’re so amazing, Bucky,” Steve babbles, drunk on lust and pleasure, “your mouth feels so good, god, you have such a pretty mouth, you know? Almost as pretty as your cock.”

Bucky’s lips slide down Steve’s dick. He stops and sucks on the head for a moment, drawing another moan out of Steve before he starts to swallow him down again.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” Steve admits, “after I caught you in that shower. Your nipples were so red, Buck – and you were biting your lip, oh god, and your hand looked so beautiful against your skin—”

Steve’s hands start to go limp in his hair as Bucky brings him closer to orgasm. He pulls off just long enough to catch his breath, and then Bucky leans his head down and licks at the head of Steve’s cock, teasing. He sucks gently on the very tip until Steve’s babbling fades into a long, heavy moan.

“Please,” Steve says, voice catching in his throat. His thumb strokes Bucky’s cheekbone. “Please, Buck.”

Bucky looks up at Steve. His head is thrown back against the tile wall, lidded eyes heavy but soft as they gaze down at Bucky.

“Aye aye, Captain,” Bucky jokes – but his voice is raw and heavy, wrecked. Steve smiles at him.

Bucky swallows the head of Steve’s cock and takes him down slowly as far as he can, tongue pulsing, sucking gently as the old familiar taste of precome hits the back of his tongue. He holds the base of Steve’s cock in his hand, rubbing little circles over the skin underneath, teasing his balls, and he doesn’t realize it’s his metal hand until Steve is coming with a bit-off shout.

Bucky pulls off in surprise, his lips making a wet _smack_ as they leave Steve’s cock. He swallows down Steve’s come, feeling more of it dribbling down his cheek, spattering onto his thigh. Above him, Steve is a pink, flushed mess, panting and grasping for Bucky, who’d slipped out of his grip.

Bucky rinses his mouth out with the shower water before he stands up to kiss the wet skin of Steve’s jaw.

“How’d I do?” he asks, smirking. “You got a little quiet there, Steve. Still in there?”

“Shut up,” Steve blushes. “I know I’m, um, talkative—”

“That’s one word for it,” Bucky murmurs, nuzzling up against him. His dick is still hard, and he knows Steve can feel it pressing against his hip. Bucky kisses Steve’s neck. When Steve hums appreciatively, Bucky sucks at the skin, leaving a red mark that’s already fading to pink by the time he moves his lips down for another.

“You’re an ass,” Steve laughs. He reaches down and slaps Bucky lightly on the ass to punctuate his statement.

“Mmm, I know,” Bucky groans, rubbing up against Steve, “we can talk about it later. Come on, Steve, touch me. Please. I want you to get me off before we use up all the hot water.”

Steve chuckles again, which Bucky knows is never a good sign.

“Well,” Steve pauses, “I want _you_ to fuck me. If you want.”

Bucky’s breath catches in his throat. His cock throbs. He swallows.

“Aren’t you too sensitive, after that?” he says, lips an inch from Steve’s ear.

“I’ll be hard again in a minute, if you keep kissing my neck like that,” Steve says. “Supersoldier, remember?”

***

Ten minutes finds the two of them (mostly) dried off and lying on Bucky’s bed, necking like a pair of teenagers. (Although Bucky would have thought he’d died and gone to heaven if this had happened when he was young.) Steve’s, ahem, _suggestion_ on movie night has paid off in the long run, and Bucky has extra thick lube, and a packet of towelettes, and he’s really not going to think about how he was totally oblivious to how much Steve loves bottoming.

Bucky uncaps the tube and pours some lube into his right hand. Steve is stretched out on the bed next to him, his legs folded, pillow underneath the small of his back so Bucky can see his ass. Steve’s cock had filled, hard and ready, when Bucky pushed Steve up against the bathroom sink and tried to convince him not to wait any longer.

Steve’s dick is a deeper, different shade of pink than it was when Bucky was sucking it. Steve is the exact same shade, though, cheeks blushing, neck turning purple and yellow and pink, healing from Bucky’s hickeys. His lips are swollen dark and red.

The lube warmed by his skin, Bucky presses one finger to the rim of Steve’s asshole. His eyes flicker to Steve, whose mouth drops open. Bucky changes position so he can kiss Steve. He bites at Steve’s lower lip, and starts to work his finger into Steve, slowly, carefully.

When they pull apart to catch their breath, Steve opens his eyes.

“Wait, no, use the other hand,” he says, blinking at Bucky with the same drunken look. “The metal one.”

Bucky freezes, the tip of his finger still inside Steve.

“What?” he says.

“Touch me, touch me with your other hand,” Steve pants, “I don’t care where – just – please, just _touch me_.”

Bucky is surprised to find he doesn’t need to think twice about it. He slides his robotic hand up Steve’s thigh, and is met with a pleased moan.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s it,” Steve sighs, and Bucky feels the metal begin to heat up from Steve’s body heat. He teases him at first, stroking here and there, rubbing circles into his thigh, using his metal hand to adjust Steve’s position. Steve melts underneath him, loosening up enough for Bucky to add a little more lube and another finger.

He fingers Steve mercilessly, caught up in lust and want, and Steve is begging and chanting for another finger before long. His hands are clutched in the sheets, like he’s holding on for dear life.

When Bucky adds a third finger, he wraps his metal hand around Steve’s cock and drags his fingers down to the head.

“ _Bucky,_ ” Steve yelps, “I’m gonna – you gotta – I’m ready, Bucky. I’m not gonna last if you keep touching me like that.”

Bucky pulls his fingers out of Steve’s ass. He wipes them on a hand towel and changes position again, this time, straddling Steve’s hips.

“Kiss me, Steve, you needy little punk,” Bucky says, inches above Steve’s face. Smiling, laughing, Steve leans up to kiss him soundly. Bucky closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath.

When he pulls away, Steve has the lube in his hand and a determined look in his eyes, and he’s clumsily pouring some into his hand to spread over Bucky’s cock.

The friction and slick feel so good, Bucky could come just from this if he hadn’t already waited so damn long. He’s keyed up on anticipation, drunk on Steve’s kisses and caught up in every little moan and touch.

He pushes into Steve slowly, feeling the velvet heat push and crush and crest over him like a wave. He straightens up, back arching, hands reaching out for something to hold onto –

“That's it, that's it,” Steve moans, taking hold of his hands. “Fuck me, Bucky, _please_.”

Bucky opens his eyes, not even realizing he's closed them. Steve looks so beautiful, flushed like this, chest heaving, legs spread to the side. Bucky pushes his hips forwards in a shallow thrust, almost instinctively.

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs.

Bucky begins pumping his hips, thrusting his cock into Steve, pulling back, fucking him slow so he can feel the slick glide. He feels his entire body begin to light up. His nipples are tingling, palms itching, and he disentangles one hand from Steve's to hold it on Steve's hip, to hold him still while he fucks him.

“Bucky, please--”

He feels Steve's hips straining under his hand and realizes he's holding Steve there with the strength of his robotic arm. Bucky shifts his grip, reaching around to gently squeeze Steve's ass. Steve wraps his legs around Bucky, hooking his ankles together, using his supersoldier strength to drive Bucky's cock in deeper, harder.

“You could hold me down with that arm if you wanted,” Steve says shakily, smirking up at him. “Touch me wherever you wanted.”

“Are you asking me to?” Bucky replies, guttural. He can feel his climax building, low in his spine, and all he can think about is Steve's wet heat and Steve's pink lips and _Steve_ , all around him. Steve squeezes his hand.

“Just—just touch my cock,” Steve says, nearly begging, “Please, Buck, please, I need you.”

With Bucky's right hand in a vice grip, he gives Steve's ass one last squeeze with his robotic hand before he wraps it around Steve's cock.

The sight of it is beautiful, silver metal against Steve's reddened skin, precome dripping down Bucky's fingers. Steve lets out a long moan, clenching around Bucky, and then he's coming in waves, ears ringing, panting Steve's name.

Steve follows a moment afterwards, come spilling over Bucky's metal fingers and dribbling down to pool on his stomach. He throws his head back as he comes, pretty pink mouth wide open.

They stay like that for a moment, panting together.

Bucky pulls out gently and collapses on the bed beside Steve. Steve wraps an arm around him and smirks, smug and happy.

“You're amazing,” Steve says, cradling Bucky's cheek in one hand. He leans in, holding their foreheads together. Bucky closes the space for a kiss.

*

Somehow, they extract their selves from the dirty sheets and find some towels. Together, they help each other clean up, sharing soft smiles that make Bucky's stomach flutter like he's a dumb, lovesick kid again.

But then, Steve stretches back on the bed and crosses his arms behind his head with a smirk.

“Guess I found a robot hand to fuck myself with, after all,” Steve laughs.

Bucky buries his head in a pillow with a groan. “You're ridiculous,” Bucky says. “How the hell did you develop a robotics kink?”

Steve slings an arm around Bucky to pull him close and spoon him. He rests his chin on Bucky's shoulder, close to his neck. Shivers run down Bucky's spine when Steve presses a kiss to his neck.

“I don't know about that,” Steve says, lying through his teeth. “I like to think it's a _you_ kink.”

Bucky laughs. “Bullshit. You get so hot for this cybernetic stuff, admit it.”

“Okay, I'll admit it,” Steve says, “I love you, and I love your robotic arm, dumbass. It's a part of you, and that makes it beautiful.”

Bucky goes still for a long moment, because post-sex _I love you's_ are complicated and so is Steve – but, then again, this is Steve. He's always straightforward, to a fault.

Bucky cracks a smile. “And this has nothing to do with your dick?” he says, closing his eyes and leaning back into Steve's arms.

He can feel Steve roll his eyes.

“My _dick_ , actually, _also_ loves your hand. And your mouth,” Steve adds in a serious voice.

“Uh huh.”

“And literally any part of your body, as long as it's touching mine.”

“Hey, Steve?”

“Huh?”

“Shut up.”

 

 

_Fin._

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on tumblr, I'm [@sarriane](http://sarriane.tumblr.com/)! :)


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